


This Is Where It Starts

by rednecksaints



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Daryl In Love, F/M, Ghost Beth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 14:42:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6709093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rednecksaints/pseuds/rednecksaints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>***2nd Place Best One-Shot in the Bethyl 2016 Moonshine Awards***</p><p> </p><p>This is a one shot in which Daryl is the one to receive Negan's bat. <br/>But before he dies, he sees Beth. Yes, it's sad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is Where It Starts

[ ](http://s649.photobucket.com/user/rednecksaints/media/This%20is%20where%20it%20starts_zpslozaos2o.jpg.html)  


This is where it starts.

There’s a loud crack that comes down upon his skull like thunder. He doesn’t feel it at first, only hears the deafening sound of screams blending in with the initial blow. His vision splits in two. He sees the man standing before him with that wicked grin, but he also sees a girl. She’s standing behind his enemy, wisps of blond hair fading in and out of focus.  
He can’t _really_ see her, but he knows she’s there. 

Another crack, and this time he feels it.  
It vibrates down his spine, leaving him paralyzed with fear and agonizing pain. It doesn’t last much longer than that. Within a split second, everything around him begins to fade.  
But not the girl. 

She remains in the forefront of his focus, and every time he blinks, she becomes a little bit clearer. Her eyes: they’re blue. Her skin: it’s pale and smooth. It’s completely unblemished, so he knows it can’t be her. Not _his_ girl -- the girl with scars on her face and a bullet wound through the back of her skull. But she’s moving closer, and when she’s completely in focus, nothing blurred and nothing skewed, he sees her.

Tears leak from his eyes at the sight of her.  
It’s _her_. It’s Beth.

He fell to his side with the second hit, so as she walks toward him he takes her in at an angle. She crouches beside him and slides her slender fingers through his hair.  
This somehow hurts more than the blow to his head. She feels real.  
But she can’t be. She just can’t.

“Daryl,” she whispers his name, her voice light and full of innocence. 

He’s closed his eyes. The sight of her is too much to take, but she’s calling him back. She’s coaxing his lids to open again and face her. 

“Daryl, open your eyes.”

“No,” he lets out harshly. He doesn’t mean to offend her. He doesn’t want to be rude, but he can’t look at her. He can’t risk watching her disappear. 

“You’re not real,” he cries. “This ain’t real.”

His tears have leaked down the length of his face. They’re spilling into his mouth and dripping single drops at a time onto the ground. 

One. 

Two. 

Three. 

He counts them as he feels them release from his skin, but he still refuses to open his eyes. 

“Wouldn’t kill you to have a little faith,” she says.

Her words hit him hard.  
It’s a memory. It’s _his_ memory. That’s all. This perfect, wonderful, _special_ girl can’t be here. She’s dead. He watched it happen. He watched her blood splatter across the wall in that hallway where he felt his heart break into a million splintering pieces. He still fights to keep the jagged edges at bay. Every single day he feels them moving inside him, leaving marks and making new scars -- ones he can’t ever heal from, because that would mean thinking about her, and that’s just too damn hard to do. 

But he’s thinking about her now.  
He still feels her hand, and it feels solid.  
Maybe this _is_ real. Or maybe it’s something else. 

“Am I dead?” he asks quietly. 

She waits a moment, keeping silent and keeping still. Then he feels her move. When he finally decides that it’s safe to face her, she’s lying next to him on the ground. They’re parallel to one another, nose to nose and blue eyes staring back like a mirror. 

“No,” she says. “Not yet.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

He says it out loud, but he stops himself short of spilling more.  
If he is dying, has she come to take him with her? 

_Please, God. Let me go with her. Don’t let her leave again._

“I don’t know,” she confesses, lips trembling.  
She looks so fucking real. So fucking beautiful. It hurts.  
“I’m here because you brought me.”

He takes a risk and moves his hand. He lifts it slowly to her face and lets it fall gently against her temple. He gasps and catches his breath when he feels the texture of her hair. He weaves it between his fingers, letting each strand linger and fall away slowly. He runs his thumb across her forehead where the skin is perfectly smooth. 

No scars. No pain. Just Beth.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because you miss me. Just like I told you.”

The sobs that rack his body can’t be held back. They swarm his senses and take over everything. He can’t breathe. He can’t speak. Her touch feels white hot and her voice sounds far away. Too far.

“Beth, please,” he cries. “Don’t leave.”

She shushes him, tangling her fingers between his where they rest against her face. As he continues to cry, she continues to soothe him. Then, he hears her start to sing.

It’s something he doesn’t recognize, and he’s too caught up in her being here to really hear the words. Nonetheless, her voice does something. It stills him. Keeps him calm. It keeps him from losing all control and giving in to the heartache. He wants to lay down his weapons. He wants to surrender right here and now, but she’s not just here to comfort him. She’s trying to pull him back. She wants him to keep fighting, even though it might mean giving up on her completely.

But he doesn’t want to fight. He’s done it for too long, and he’s tired. He’s so tired.

“You can stay,” she says after singing the last note of her lament. 

“Here?” he questions. “With you?”

She nods once then looks away. “Or you can go back. They need you.”

“But I need you.”

“You have me.” She places one hand on his chest, just above his heart. “Here.”

His memory flashes back to the moonshine shack.  
The two of them sitting on the porch.  
Him telling her the truth about his worth. About his shame. 

_You have to put it away,_ she’d said. _Or it kills you. Here._

But what if he can’t?

He allows his forehead to fall against hers, and he breathes her in. She smells like earth and sky. Like moonshine and grape jelly. Picnics and summer holidays. 

“My girl,” he says. “You were _my_ girl.”

He feels her smile, so he smiles too. He allows himself this split second of happiness with her beside him, because he knows it’s fleeting. He knows it won’t happen again. Not in his lifetime, nor in hers. Because it was too short. And it was too unfair. 

“I don’t wanna go back,” he tells her. “I can’t fight anymore, Beth. I’m done.”

She lifts her eyes and meets his gaze. “Are you sure?”

He nods and mumbles something that she takes as affirmation. 

“Okay.”

Her body shifts closer to his. He pulls her into his arms and relaxes against her chest. He breathes with the movement of her lungs. In and out. Up and down.

“On the count of three?” 

Her eyes are so bright. So full of hope and everything he thought the world had killed.  
But it couldn’t douse the fire that burned in her heart. It couldn’t take her spirit.

He takes a deep breath. “One.”

“Two.” She does the same.

 _Three_ comes out between them at once as their lips meet.  
Within a split second, everything begins to fade.  
In an instant, all feeling in his body begins melting away.  
He feels light. No heaviness. No darkness.  
Just her. Just his girl lying next to him for all eternity.  
He could stay here. He could be happy. 

This is where it starts.


End file.
